Trapped
by Relentless Optimism
Summary: Stiles and Derek are in the closet. No, really. They are stuck in a closet. But...they're a little gay too. Who shut them in there anyway? And why? Lots of bamf Stiles. Multiple chapters.
1. Chapter 1

There were only so many ways to describe the way Stiles felt. Pissed wasn't right, neither was annoyed, he was more..._frustrated_. Because, really, just how many times could he find himself trapped in an awkward life-threatening situation with Derek? Fate had a sick sense of humor.

The closet they were currently locked in was small; there was barely enough room for Stiles to even sit down. It had one window, big but reinforced. It was so like the school to put metal bars on the window to a _supply closet_ and not, say, the nurse's station. Moonlight was the only light the pair had; the single light bulb above them had burnt out ages ago.

Stiles shifted again his eyes darting over to the door one more time. There was no handle on the inside and it appeared to be locked from the outside. Again, and not surprisingly, it was well reinforced. Two sets of bolt locks sat tauntingly above the door handle. There were several cracks from where Derek had tried to force it open, but the stubborn piece of shit would not budge.

He pulled his leg up, propping an elbow on it and turned his focus to the other man in the room. Derek was leaning against the wall, arms firmly crossed over his chest, eyes closed and head tipped down. _Maybe he's asleep._ Stiles thought briefly.

"Derek are you asleep?" he asked, not waiting for an answer he continued; "Can werewolves sleep while their standing? I know I sure as hell can't. Actually, I've never tried. Do you think it's harder than sleeping on a dashboard? This one time I got drunk and fell asleep on the dashboard of Danny's car. Come to think of it, I don't know why I was in Danny's car. I probably thought it was Scott's or something. Wait, Scott doesn't have a car. What are you staring at?"

Derek watched Stiles evenly but Stiles didn't miss the way his lip twitched down and his brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Do you ever shut up?" That wasn't fair, Stiles hadn't even said anything for, like, five minutes. "It was more like five seconds," Derek said quietly and Stiles hadn't realized he had been speaking.

"Well-"Stiles paused to think of something witty to say; "I have to do enough talking for the both of us since you don't say anything."

"I just did," Derek snapped, quickly regaining his calm composure, "Talking is useless right now anyway."

_Maybe for you._ Stiles thought almost bitterly, even though he knew damn well it wasn't Derek's fault he had forgotten to refill his prescription and therefore hadn't taken his Adderall in more than 36 hours. Derek settled back into what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position with his body standing rigid. Stiles really needed to get on top of that.

A blush spread across his face instantly. The prescription, he needed to get on top of the prescription—not Derek, because that would be weird. _Kind of hot too_.

Derek sighed irritably; "You're hot now?"

"Wha-No, I'm fine," Stiles answered quickly.

"You just said you were hot," Derek frowned, worry almost seeping into his expression of annoyance and goddamn why couldn't Stiles keep his mouth from spewing nonsense.

"This room _is_ small and you're hot," Stiles frantically added; "I mean, with you in here too, its getting kind of hot."

"There's nothing _I_ can do about it," Derek growled, shifting again; "So stop whining and shut _up_."

"Yeah, yes. Okay, I will," Stiles blathered. The older man looked really uncomfortable. _Maybe he has to go to the bathroom?_ "Hey Derek, do you have to go to the bathroom?" Shit. There his fucking mouth went again. Damn, he knew his ADHD made him obnoxious but this was ridiculous. It was like Derek's presence completely mucked up his self control.

"What?" Derek bit.

"I mean, you just look really uncomfortable. I thought maybe you had to, y'know, go to the bathroom or something. We _have_ been stuck in here for, like, ever. Hey, do you want to sit down? I can move over. Or I can stand. Is there something wrong?" Stiles made to move but Derek halted him with a glare.

"I do not have to go to the bathroom," Derek started as if he was talking to a child, and Stiles couldn't help but be a little offended; "We have only been in here for seven minutes and Scott is on his way, so _no_ I do not want to sit down," he paused before fixing his curious, intense eyes on Stiles' own and the younger man licked his lips nervously. "Is there something wrong with _you_?"

"What? No, I'm fine," Stiles cursed himself when his voice cracked a bit, "Just eager to be out of the closet," _Shit_; "**This** closet." He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Derek stared at him for a long moment. "...right."

Silence sank into the small room in a heavy, asphyxiating cloud of awkwardness. _Great._ Stiles ran a hand over his shaven hair and forced his eyes to stare at the mop and bucket to his right. He tried so hard to focus on it, but his mind began to wander and he could do little to stop it.

_What if Derek thinks I'm some huge gay now that's head over heels for him? Wait, am I? Aren't I? _Well, Derek is hot. _When he looks at me I—_its not like Stiles really had much luck in the romantic side of life. _I should just let it go. _But..._What if Derek likes me too. Or what if wants to screw? _Oh, God._ What if he's a sexual predator that likes high school boys. I mean its not like he hasn't, you know, been a predator before being a wolf and all. I'm just a different type of prey. _A **sexual **prey_...and that should __**not**__ turn me on as much as it just did..._

"Stiles!" Derek shouted, a chilling rumble to his voice that meant he was fighting back the urge to turn into a wolf, and Stiles jumped; "Were you even _listening_ to a word I said?"

"Uh..." was Stiles' intelligent reply.

Taking a few calming breaths, Derek snarled; "I _said_; Scott just texted me saying he can't make it—some emergency with Allison that needed his _immediate_ attention."

Stiles snorted; "Yeah. Right. She's probably just horny." There was another awkward quiet moment before Stiles continued with a sigh; "So when can he get us the hell out of here?"

"He didn't say," Derek replied, his words clipped.

"So..." Stiles grinned his best shit-eating grin; "Do you want to sit down now?"

Derek glared. "In case you've failed to realize," the dark haired man barked; "There is a full moon out tonight. I had not exactly planned on being trapped in a small room with such a _frustrating_ person. Do not push me or I _will_ rip your heart out of your chest with my _bare hands_ and make you watch me **eat it.**"

"Wow..." Stiles frowned, and Derek snapped his jaw shut, knowing he said too much; "That was descriptive! How do you come up with those threats? Do you have them written out before hand or is it like some spur of the moment thing...?" He tried to keep humor in his voice, and failed.

_Of course I'm just an annoyance. That's all I've ever been._ Stiles' chest hurt, like his heart was imploding in on itself and suddenly he was afraid that maybe he was dying or something. His dad had a bad heart and his mom hadn't exactly been healthy either, obviously. Plus, he'd heard of Adderall messing with people's hearts and he had been taking it more frequently as of late.

Wait. He was going to die. What about Scott? His dad? They would be lost without him, wouldn't they? Just like that he couldn't breath. The room was too small, the floor too hard, his pulse too fast. Panic. Stiles was panicking.

Derek was immediately kneeling in front of him. "Are you alright?" he asked and Stiles couldn't bring himself to look the man in the eyes. He hadn't had a panic attack in years and he was embarrassed. He must look so weak. "Stiles? Hey, what's going on?" Derek pressed, grabbing Stiles' face and forcing him to look at the werewolf.

"Can't...breathe," Stiles wheezed out between strangled pants and shortening breaths.

Seriousness and determination settled into Derek's expression. "A panic attack?" All Stiles could do was nod.

There was a moment of hesitation where Derek released Stiles' face, letting it loll against his chest, before Derek moved. Pulling Stiles forward, Derek slid his way behind the younger man. Legs on either side of Stiles' waist and arms wrapped around Stiles' chest, supporting the younger man's weight, Derek spoke, "You need to breathe."

"No shit..." Stiles practically grunted, his cheeks reddening at the feeling of the other man pressing against him. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen to his brain

Derek let a frustrated growl rumble in his chest and Stiles could feel it vibrate through his entire body. "Since you're not doing such a good job by yourself," Derek tried to keep his voice gentle, and Stiles couldn't remember the man ever even attempting to do that before, "Try to match my breathing."

Stiles didn't know if Derek's hot breath on his neck was a help or a hindrance. Since he could focus on little else, including _why_ he was panicking in the first place, Stiles filed it under being 'a help'. Which he did hesitantly, because as his breathing evened out and his fear subsided they were replaced by lust and a hard on.

There were more awkward situations he could have found himself in, Stiles supposed. Although he couldn't think of many. Or any at that moment. All he could think of was the fact that Derek hadn't slaughtered him in some creatively brutal way which probably meant he hadn't noticed Stiles' _problem_.

"Derek..." Stiles moaned, and damn his lack of mind-to-mouth filter because behind him Derek tensed. Stiles swallowed nervously, his hands moving to pry Derek's arms off of him; "I-I can breathe now, thanks." When he tried to squirm away from Derek, the older man halted him with a vice grip on his stomach.

"Don't-" his voice was strained and Stiles froze, "Don't move."

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, worriedly. He worried about everyone, why not worry about Derek too. Even though he could be a real ass sometimes. "Did you get hurt when you were ramming the door?"

"...no," Derek's breaths had become more shallow, Stiles noted, and his voice more husky; "That's not-" Then Stiles felt it. _Something_ was poking into his back. It was _hard_ and _long_ and _holy shit_.

"Do you have a boner!?" Okay. So probably not the best thing to shout out right then. No filter, remember? Stiles, eyes wide, halted Derek's attempts to shove him away. "Wait!" Derek did, beyond belief; "I just meant-I didn't know you were, that you liked, I mean because I like and-" Stiles paused, and fuck this tip-toeing around bullshit; "I have one too. A _raging_-"

Then Derek cut him off. Since he did it with his mouth though, Stiles couldn't really bring himself to be angry, or anything other than insanely turned on. With Derek pulling on his shoulders, Stiles allowed himself to be turned around, now straddling Derek's narrow hips, and when the fuck had Derek even shown an ounce of interest in _anyone,_ let alone Stiles.

The younger man pulled back, just enough to part their lips and Derek's mouth immediately went to his neck. Nuzzling. Stiles gripped Derek's shirt tightly. _Come on—focus!_ "I thought I was," Stiles paused to gasp when he felt Derek's tongue dart across his tendon; "just an annoyance."

Even though he was horny and desperately wanted nothing more than to make out with Derek all night, he had to know if Derek wasn't just losing control because it was the full moon and Stiles had been getting on his nerves and the werewolf didn't _really_ know what he was doing. Because that felt way too much like Stiles was taking advantage of Derek. Huh. Never thought _that_ would be an issue.

"You're," Derek panted into Stiles' skin; "..._frustrating_." Stiles tensed, and Derek almost rolled his eyes. He gripped Stiles' chin and turned his face so they were looking at each other. All Stiles saw was Derek; no shifting colors in his eyes or fangs hanging from his lips.

"I don't-" Stiles whispered, but Derek interrupted.

"Sexually frustrating, Stiles," he clarified, blatant amusement in his voice, "You're this constant reminder of what I can't have and what I _want_ so badly I can hardly control myself around you. That's frustrating. You, you're-" Derek hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself, "You're _perfect_."

Of all the things Stiles had expected to hear, that had not even made the list. "Me? But you're the sexy werewolf with the immaculate body and the gorgeous eyes and broody exterior hiding a deliciously gooey center and-" Stiles stopped talking instantly when Derek quirked an amused brow at him. "Right," Stiles ground his hips downward into Derek's pelvis, and the werewolf released a deep groan; "Now that that's settled, can we get back to the making out?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Derek growled, devouring Stiles' lips again.

This kiss was hungry and desperate and Stiles couldn't help but moan when Derek's rough tongue forced its way into his mouth. His hands moved up Derek's chest to his neck, and he found himself pulling Derek impossibly closer. No matter how much they pressed against each other it wasn't _enough_. Then, Derek slid his hands up the back of Stiles' shirt and Stiles realized what the problem was.

They were wearing far too much clothing.

"Your shirt," Stiles whispered into Derek's lips; "Take it off." Both men were surprised by the stern, demanding tones of Stiles' voice. Derek smirked before moving to obey, slipping the fabric over his head and tossing it aside. "Now take mine off too," Stiles panted into Derek's ear, grinning as the man shuddered.

Derek slid his hands up the smoothness of Stiles' back, pushing aside the younger man's shirt as he did so. He took his time, teasing Stiles to the point of Stiles reaching up and tearing his shirt off his damned self, because he wanted to feel Derek's sexy chest against his own already, God damn it.

Then there was nothing holding either man back. Mouths met hot flesh and hands explored smooth expanses of over sensitive skin until both men were out of breath and desperate for some form of release. Derek gripped Stiles' hips so hard it _hurt_ but Stiles couldn't bring himself to be bothered by it, because honestly it felt too good.

Stiles brought his mouth to Derek's ear, nipping at it lightly before he whispered heatedly; "I want to **fuck** like a couple of _animals_." And if Derek's immediate moan of pleasure and roll of hips that sent sparks flying through Stiles' veins were any indication, so did Derek.

Reaching down, Stiles tore his pants open. This was _happening_. Come on, he was a teenage boy and he had plenty of unsatisfied urges, all of which were going to be completely filled. By Derek fucking Hale. Stiles was trembling in anticipation when he reached down to unzip Derek's jeans.

Derek caught his hands, halting him. "Wait," his voice had an edge, but Stiles couldn't bring himself to care. He had _pressing needs_, and he knew Derek did to because he could feel it. Rubbing against his fingers.

"For _what_?" Stiles tugged at his hands, Derek did not relent.

"Someone is coming," Derek's voice sounded almost panicked.

"What?" Stiles did not want to stop. At all; "Who?"

Then Derek swallowed nervously, and Stiles started to worry. " Scott. And your father."

Before Stiles could launch himself away from Derek, put his shirt on and somehow manage to _not_ look for all the world like he'd just been ravaged, the sound of someone opening the door had him freezing in terror. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_

"_Stiles_," Derek ground out, "Get off." But Stiles never had the chance.

The door flung open and Scott charged into the room before skidding to an abrupt halt. His eyes met Derek's stare of forced neutrality and darted to Stiles frantic look of utter horror and back again.

"Wha-?" He started dumbly before the sheriff's voice interrupted him.

"Scott, is he in there?" he sounded impatient, like he was about to enter the room at any minute.

Stiles felt like he was going to cry; this is not how he wanted his dad to find out that girls weren't the only sexually attractive sex on his prevue of sexually exciting sexual images of sex. God, he was freaking out! Then he couldn't breath again. He was panicking and Scott seemed to catch on really quick because the instant Stiles looked at him, Scott dove out of the room, halting Mr. Stilinski before he got to the doorway.

"What? The closet?" Scott laughed awkwardly; "He is most definitely not in the closet."


	2. Chapter 2

To say that the minutes spent redressing themselves and _escaping _the school were awkward was a massive understatement. Stiles couldn't even bring himself to _look_ at Derek, but he got the feeling Derek wasn't having that problem. The other man's eyes were boring holes into Stiles like he was trying to use x-ray vision or something.

When they fled to the parking lot both men halted at Stiles' jeep. Derek's car had been left behind, agreeing that Stiles' jeep would stand out less at the school. Pulling his phone from his pocket Stiles typed a massively convincing text to his dad that he was on his way home from lacrosse practice with Danny. A little hard to believe considering the late hour, but it would have to do. Sighing and stuffing his phone into his pants, Stiles finally looked at Derek. _Yep. Just as hot as ever_, his brain supplied cruelly before Stiles cleared his throat.

"Wanna ride me? **With** me," he heard the waver in his voice, knowing Derek had noticed it as well.

The werewolf gave him an assessing gaze, searching the stumble of words for some unspoken _something_. Stiles sincerely hoped he would find it, because frankly Stiles had no idea what was going on. They paused, trading hesitant looks. Stiles licked his lips nervously before Derek wrenched the door open and situated himself in the passenger seat.

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Stiles got in the car as well. He was so eternally grateful that he had decided to park in the teachers' lot and not the student one; he really didn't need his dad seeing him peel away from the school with Derek Hale. That would just be, well, awkward. Definitely less than this car ride though.

_We should probably talk about it._ Stiles mind kept reminding him, and seriously its not like he was just going to _forget_. "So..." he started, his eyes darting towards Derek quickly; "Do we, like, talk about this or something?" Stiles could _feel_ Derek frowning. "I mean we could **not**, but then that would be leaving _this_," he motioned to himself and Derek, "seriously unresolved."

Derek glanced out the window. "Where are we going?" _Diversion. _Stiles could use a little of that right now.

"Your house-but do you _like_ me?" Stiles could feel himself rambling, so much for distracting himself; "Because if you don't, I would get it. Which doesn't mean that I don't like you. Because I do. Oh god, what if your _pack_ found out?! They'd probably kill me for, like, **raping** you or something and-"

"Stiles!" Derek barked, and Stiles snapped his mouth shut, "You talk too much."

Emotionally turbulent thoughts tumbled through Stiles' mind like a dryer set on 'shitstorm'; he couldn't fucking _focus._ Derek was sitting so close to him, _they had made out, Scott had caught them!_ and he had never wanted his medication so badly in his whole life, God damn it.

"Yeah and you don't talk enough," Stiles shot back; "Do you want to just _ignore_ this?" A low growl left Derek's throat and Stiles could tell he was getting pissed. Too bad for him. "Do you want to act like nothing _happened_?"

Derek slammed his fist into the window, cracking it and making Stiles jump; "_**Yes!**_"

"Well that's not going to happen!" Stiles shouted back, his grip tightening on the steering wheel; "In case you forgot Scott _saw_ us. Do you think he's just going to let that go!?"

"Yes he will!" Derek was yelling, the deep growl of the wolf clawing its way into his voice. Stiles couldn't bring himself to be scared; he was too mad. "It's not his business."

Stiles swerved to the side of the road, stomped on the brake, put it into park and turned his attention to Derek. "He will make it his business! If he hasn't told my dad already, how long do you think it will be until he tells Allison? Then Lydia? Jackson? The whole pack!"

"Why are you fucking pushing this!?" Derek snatched Stiles by the front of the shirt; "Why can't we just tell Scott it was a one time thing and fucking **forget**it ever happened!?"

"Because I don't want to!" Stiles snapped; "Tonight was the best I've felt in such a long time—I don't want to just act like I don't shiver when I hear your voice, act like I can look at you without wondering what its like to kiss you, because now that I know I don't want to go back!" Stiles looked away, hitting the steering wheel; "Shit! What am I _doing_? How could I mess this up so fast...?" His rage deflated, and next to him Derek's did as well.

"Stiles..." Derek's voice was so quiet and unsure and hesitant and _gentle_ Stiles was caught off guard, "I...don't know what I'm doing either."

"Do you want me? Like, more than just a quickie in the back of your car," Stiles asked, his voice so much more _even_ than his chaotic mind.

Derek paused, examining Stiles' face. Something softened his cold stare and his hands disentangled themselves from Stiles' shirt moving up to his face, holding him almost too hard. He said nothing, only nodded—one quick jerk of his head. Stiles could see it in Derek's face. Attraction, desire, frustration and something_ deeper_ neither boy was ready to admit even existed.

"Then we will figure it out together," Stiles sighed, almost contentedly leaning into Derek's touch. The older man smiled, well more of an approving quick twitch of his lips upwards, before leaning in for a kiss. "Derek, you..." Stiles whispered, Derek waited, their faces, _their lips_, so close it almost hurt, "are paying for that window." Derek chuckled before he sealed their mouths in a tender kiss. _I wasn't kidding._

Forgoing the Hale house altogether, Stiles was astounded when he managed to sneak into his own bedroom, Derek on his heel, with little to no protest or hiccups. Once they were in the room with a bed only feet away, both men hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

"Should we...?" Stiles asked sheepishly, unable to stop himself from blushing.

Derek quirked a brow and smirked. "Weren't you the one that said he wanted to fuck like animals?" he jeered playfully, making Stiles even more flustered.

"I-I was-we were, that was-just shut up!" he decided to bury his embarrassment by flopping face first onto his bed. There was a distinct shuffle of clothes being removed that had Stiles snapping up and turning to face Derek, who was pulling his shirt off and making his way towards the bed.

"Move over," Derek ordered and Stiles froze.

"Maybe I'll just sleep on the floor. Like a slumber party. Only we are grown men and don't have slumber parties. Unless you want to. I bet I could beat your ass in a pillow fight any day!" Again, Stiles vomited out his words like a flustered preteen with the flu. Of the brain. Brain flu. Even his thought processes were being over-powered by the many, many graphic images of what would happen when Derek laid down next to him.

"_Relax_," Derek said, amused; "No need to guard your precious virginity, Stiles, I just want to sleep."

"I'm not a-How did you know I've never-?" Stiles huffed, before rolling over to give Derek just enough space on his already cramped single bed, "Fine."

Stiles hadn't realized he was so tired until he snuggled into his pillow. Behind him, he felt Derek's weight as he settled into the bed, the older man's back pressed firmly into his own. Knowing Derek was there was somehow...nice. For the first time in a long time Stiles had no trouble falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was too bright for the early morning when Stiles peeled his eyes open. He shouldn't have been surprised by the lack of company in bed with him. Derek had probably left the moment Stiles had fallen asleep, but Stiles couldn't stop worry from prickling through his veins.

It felt bad, but bad in a way Stiles was familiar with, in a way he could handle. There was always that sickening knot of worry gnawing at his chest. He worried about his dad every time he left the house and Scott every time he didn't answer his phone and Lydia and Allison and even Isaac, now he had to worry about Derek too. It left little room for him to worry about himself.

Dragging himself from his warm sheets that still smelled like Derek, Stiles realized he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday. With a begrudging sigh, he heaved them off and threw on something more comfortable and that smelled a lot less like the alpha. He kind of already missed the lingering ghost of a scent. Stiles shivered.

Seriously, he needed to get a grip. He was not some love-obsessed tween that picked through the sheets for their lover's stray hairs. Although if he looked he could probably find some of Derek's—_No Stiles. Too far. _Shaking his head, Stiles hurried downstairs, the prospect of breakfast quickening his pace and giving him a boost of energy. He practically tackled the fridge.

"Stiles," his dad's voice had him jumping and whirling around, "I got a call from the pharmacy this morning and picked up your meds. Why didn't you tell me you were out?"

_You were busy. I didn't want to be a bother. I was going to get them eventually I just had some stuff to help Derek Hale with...Then I was making out with him in the supply closet at the school. _"It's no big deal," Stiles shrugged; "I just forgot."

His dad paused for an assessing moment, squinting and searching Stiles face for _something_. Stiles gave nothing away. "Right, well," his dad sighed and tossed him the too familiar small orange bottle of pills, "Try not to forget again. Those things are important."

Stiles put on his biggest grin. "Trust me," he popped open the bottle and took his regular dose, swallowing it dry; "I know." Returning to his breakfast, Stiles failed to notice his dad crossing his arms over his chest, frowning.

"Stiles...?" he said again and Stiles offered a '_hm?'_ in reply, digging through the fridge; "Don't you have to get to school?" _Oh Shit!_

Arriving late was embarrassing enough without Mr. Harris' need to publicly humiliate Stiles every chance he got, but Scott staring at him like Stiles was a puzzle Scott just could not put together, definitely made it worse. For Scott it was a pretty normal look, except this time there was some other emotion clinging to his stare, like pity, or worry, or anger. It was hard to differentiate.

"Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris' irritating voice was as condescending as ever, "Thank you for _finally_ joining us. How about you take your seat?"

"No, I thought I'd just sit on someone's lap," Stiles quipped, licking his lips nervously when Scott turned an unbelievable shade of red. _Great_. Stiles internally groaned taking his seat behind his best friend, not missing the way Scott scooted down in his chair a little at Stiles' presence.

"Now that Mr. Stilinski's _interruption_ is over, let's get back to work," Mr. Harris snapped.

"Dude," Scott whispered, turning towards Stiles; "We need to talk."

Stiles stiffened. "...about Derek?"

Rolling his eyes Scott retorted; "No, about Norway's butter shortage. Yes, Derek!"

"Wait. There's a butter shortage in Norway?" Stiles perked up, clearly interested, before sagging at the serious look on Scott's face; "Right. Derek. Are you...?" Stiles licked at his lips, "Are you _okay_ with what happened?"

Scott's brow furrowed. "I don't know. How about you tell me what it was I saw and I'll tell you how I feel about it."

Now, Stiles hesitated. He wasn't exactly sure how to explain when he didn't even _know_ himself. "Derek and I-we," he felt himself blushing and Scott's intense staring was making it worse. Stiles struggled for words. _Were making out in the janitor's closet? Slept together, but not like __**that. **__Are sort __of, not really, kind of dating because we may or may not like each other?_

"Is Derek hurting you?" Scott couldn't keep the angry growl of the wolf from his voice, startling Stiles. When the other man said nothing for a brief moment, still searching for words, Scott clenched his fists and his eyes flashed gold; "I am going to kill him. I knew I shouldn't have left you with him last night. If he-"

"Scott," Stiles said, quietly but sharply, silencing his friend. They did _not_ need to draw attention to themselves by having Scott wolf-out in the middle of class. "It's not like that. At all."

"Then what _is_ it like?" Scott snapped, but he slowly regained control, calming his rage; "Why can't you tell me what is going on? If you have something to hide, then maybe it's a problem!"

"Mr. Stilinski! Mr. McCall!" the teacher shouted, and the boys snapped forward, "Is there something you'd like to share with the class? Hmm? No? Then be quiet or you'll be staying after for detention."

Stiles, for once in his life, was _glad_ that Mr. Harris interrupted them. It gave him more time to ignore his...situation with Derek, whatever the hell it was. His eyes fell to the assignment on his desk. Covalent bonds. Two atoms sharing electrons, being bound together. The balance of attraction and repulsion. _Yeah, that was not helping._

Stiles' thoughts drifted as he mindlessly filled in the answers. He thought about the closet, small and hot and pooled in moonlight. The sight, the _touch_, of Derek was still fresh in his mind. Stiles remembered Derek's words—_You're perfect—_and his hot breath. It made Stiles shiver. Everything in that closet he could remember perfectly; even the mop and bucket, the barred window, the reinforced door, the small uneven tile he had been sitting on...

Suddenly pieces he hadn't realized were there began to fall into place.

A supply closet. _Why would they need to reinforce that?_ It didn't make sense, and that was something Stiles could not let go. Now, he needed to know. _That tile on the floor it had been under the mop and bucket. It had been hidden, in a locked, reinforced room. _It was no coincidence Derek had been drawn there.

Derek had called Stiles looking for Scott, who of course was not answering. He said he had heard the sound of a fellow werewolf, desperate and in pain, had said that he **needed** to investigate it. Stiles refused to let him go alone. Hence, they ended up in the supply closet. _Someone had shut them in, right? The door hadn't shut by accident. _How did the mystery person sneak up on Derek, on the night of the full moon none-the-less.

Stiles was chewing at the eraser of his pencil, lost in thought, when the bell rang. He jerked in surprise before stuffing his books into his backpack. Scott turned on him, obviously ready to continue their conversation, but Stiles spoke first.

"The closet," he said as if it explained everything, Scott did not seem to think so; "Dude! Derek was _drawn_ to the school last night, and then we heard something in the closet and someone shut us in there. Why was the _janitor's supply closet_ reinforced with **barred windows** and a double **bolt lock**?"

"A coincidence?" Scott asked, trying to keep up with Stiles as they practically ran from the class room.

"_Two_ things make a coincidence, Scott" Stiles clarified; "One; Derek was drawn to the school," he paused as they stopped outside of the supply room; "Two; we get shut in a _closet_ with enough reinforcements to keep an alpha werewolf in—or out," Stiles wrenched open the door, "and Three," falling to his knees and pushing discarded cleaning supplies out of the way Stiles continued; "There's a trap door in the floor."

"So," Scott commented, glancing around to make sure no one was watching them, "that doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't mean—Come on Scott!" Stiles turned towards his friend in disbelief; "Don't you get it?"

"Get what?" Scott whined; "If you are just deflecting Stiles, I swear to God-"

"Dude. Here me out," Stiles examined the door. It was _almost_ hidden amongst the tile surrounding it, only it was elevated slightly, had a thin metal lining and a small square handle. "It was a trap. Last night. _Think!_ Allison almost gets in a car accident, she needed you. Whoever did this knew you would help Allison over Derek. They also knew Derek would investigate anyway."

"...right," Scott was trying to follow along, trying very hard; "But Derek and you got away. Whoever it was had you, but locked you guys in here and didn't stop you guys from getting away."

"Exactly," Stiles pulled at the handle. _Locked_. "It had _us._ They didn't count on** me** being with Derek. They hadn't been expecting that. Expecting me."

"Okay...So, no offense, but if they were after Derek why didn't they just kill you and take him or something?" Scott asked, peeking out the door and keeping watch.

"I don't know," Stiles shrugged; "Maybe because they didn't expect Derek and I to, like, make out the moment we were alone together."

"Why do you have to...?" Scott whispered sharply, the tension in his voice catching Stiles off guard; "Can you _hurry up_? I really don't want to be here."

"Alright, alright," Stiles rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet; "One more thing. Do you smell anything..._weird_?"

"You mean other than you and Derek?" Scott shuddered and Stiles frowned; "No, it just smells way too much like pine sol."

"Okay, thanks," Stiles mumbled, losing himself in thought as he stepped around Scott and back into the hallway. A hand catching him by the arm had Stiles snapping his attention back to his friend. The uneasy look on Scott's face made Stiles' throat constrict. He hated that look.

"Stiles," Scott started, deadly serious and concerned; "Be careful. With Derek, with _this_-" he motioned towards the closet, "Just, don't get in over your head."

Stiles nodded and tried to ignore the way Scott's smile made him feel like the biggest asshole ever. _Too late._


	4. Chapter 4

There wasn't much Stiles could do from his computer, but he tried to research anyway. He looked into the Hale fire and the Argent's family history; he found a very _interesting_ story about two lovers—one an Argent, one a werewolf, that were slaughtered mercilessly in each other's arms and, yeah, he was definitely not telling Scott about that.

He could almost _feel_ the Adderall in his veins absolutely forcing him to focus. His eyes were glued on the screen and man, he loved a good mystery that needed solving. He didn't know why but somehow he _knew_ the jerk that had locked him and Derek in the closet had something to do with the fire. Intuition or some shit like that.

If only he could see what was under that trap door. Stiles _knew_ there were all sorts of clues hidden under there and he couldn't solve a riddle without all the right words in all the right places. Once he had them, Stiles knew fitting them together was the easy part. His leg bounced up and down in a jittery _need_ to move, to go down to the school and see what was in that _fucking_ secret door. It all felt so much like a lame detective novel. With werewolves. That were standing next to him.

Stiles jumped, muffling a yelp. "Derek!" he hissed; "What the _hell_? You scared the shit out of me!"

Derek quirked a brow and his eyes darted to the computer screen. "What are you doing?"

Glancing at the piles and piles of random records, newspaper clippings, blue prints of the school and ancestry websites muddled across his monitor Stiles' tongue darted across his lips quickly and Derek's eyes flicked down to watch the movement. "Uhh," Stiles started, distracted by Derek's transfixed gaze for a moment before he shook his head and turned back to his screen; "So we, _you_, were led to the school last night, but I think it was a trap. That supply closet was a little _too_ secure and also I found a trap door in the floor."

"A trap set by who?" Derek asked lowly, his brow furrowing; "I heard a wolf howling, do you think it was one of the other packs?"

Stiles didn't look up but shook his head no. "I don't think so. If it was them, why didn't they just kill me and attack you?" next to him, Derek tensed but Stiles didn't notice; "Also, there was no sign a werewolf had even been there last night."

"So..." Derek leaned back against the desk, folding his arms as a seriousness sank into his features; "What are you thinking?"

"That you look so _hot_ in this low lighting," Stiles joked, leaning back in his chair smugly, "and that whoever tried to get you is a human. Probably related to the fire and probably with some strange, completely unjustifiable grudge against you."

"What makes you think so?" Derek couldn't stop his eyes as they wandered down Stiles' body.

Shrugging, Stiles folded his arms behind his head; "I just have a feeling...you know intuition, or _instinct_. Say..." Stiles could _feel_ the mischievous glint in his eye, and so could Derek. In his groins. "How do you feel about going back in the closet?"

"Stiles..." Derek growled, "Enough with the puns."

"Okay, okay," Stiles rolled his eyes, "But seriously, I need to see where that trap door goes."

"No you don't. Not at..." Derek leaned closer to the monitor; "four in the morning. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

Stiles stood, brushing Derek off and moving to grab his jacket. "Doesn't matter, I can't sleep anyway." His medication did that sometimes, made him so restless that he wouldn't even realize he hadn't slept. Not that he told people about it, really.

Derek stepped up behind Stiles, his arm resting against the wall next to Stiles' head, locking him in place. "You're not going anywhere," It would have been scary if it wasn't so insanely _hot_. Turning, Stiles shouldn't have been surprised when Derek's face was inches from his own, but he couldn't stop his eyes from widening as he licked his lips nervously.

"Oh yeah?" Stiles quipped, knowing full well he should not be purposefully pushing Derek's buttons, "Are you going to stop me?"

"Yes," Derek growled, pressing forward into Stiles until the younger man's back met the wall with a dull thud. They both knew Derek could hear Stiles' heart pounding in his chest. Even so, Stiles grinned cheekily and quirked a brow, his eyes sizing Derek up.

"That so?" Stiles met Derek's stare evenly; "How exactly are you going to do that?"

"I can kill you, you know," Derek said lowly, dangerously, as his free hand caught Stiles by the hip in a tight, possessive grasp.

Stiles' breath hitched when Derek's fingers brushed the skin just underneath the hem of Stiles' shirt. "Yeah," Stiles nodded, "but you won't."

Derek leaned closer, his lips brushing against Stiles' mouth. "How can you be so sure...?" he whispered heatedly.

"Because that lust in your eyes is definitely _not_ blood lust," Stiles' hands moved to grab the back of Derek's neck before he even knew what he was doing; "It's just good old I-want-to-have-my-way-with-Stiles lust. I see it on people's faces all the time."

"Just shut up," Derek breathed huskily.

Stiles' hazel eyes fell into sync with Derek's and Stiles smirked; "Make me."

Pulling Stiles forward, Derek slammed his mouth over Stiles lips, effectively silencing him. Not that Stiles _minded_ of course, because he had been thinking about doing this _all God damn day_. Just as Stiles slid his tongue into Derek's too hot mouth, Derek's phone rang.

"Crap..." Stiles panted, pulling back and resting his head against the wall; "Who is it, so I can _kill_ them?"

Derek pulled the device from his coat pocket and when he saw who it was, a seriousness steeled his features. "It's Isaac," he replied before answering the device with a sharp, "What?"

Stiles prided himself on his ability to eavesdrop, but he could barely make out the other man's voice on the line. He could, however, pick up on his _tone_, which seemed panicked and scared and extremely vulnerable. But Stiles could be wrong, though the worry sinking into Derek's face told him he probably wasn't.

"Listen to me," Derek said sternly, "Stay where you are and don't do anything stupid. I'm on my way. And Isaac-" Derek's eyes flitted to Stiles' and his voice softened; "it's going to be okay." He ended the call and moved a step back from Stiles. "I have to-"

"Go. I get it, he needs your help," Stiles' hand dropped to Derek's squeezing lightly; "You better hurry." And with a nod, Derek did. Taking a few calming breaths, Stiles regained his composure and listened as Derek drove away. Well...at least nothing was stopping him from investigating the school now.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles did not pick locks. It required a certain fragile finesse that he by no means possessed. Not that it really mattered when he had made copies of the janitor's keys, _dead janitor's _his mind supplied harshly. It was a precautionary thing. He did not want to be trapped in the school again. Ever. So, technically he didn't consider it _breaking and entering_, just...entering. Illegally.

The eerie silence of the school was a bit off-putting, because the halls were normally flourishing with muffled conversation and movement. The stale disquiet was uncomfortable and Stiles kind of wished he had just called Scott and _begged_ him to come along. Now that he thought about it, why hadn't he?

Shining his flash light down a long hallway wearily, Stiles nearly flew out of his own skin when his phone rang. He had to take a calming breath, a hand clutching at his chest, just to kill the adrenaline before he could even _look_ at the device. When he did, he was equal parts relieved and terrified. Just some more conflicting emotions to add to the massive hurricane already tearing through his mind.

"Derek?" he asked cautiously; "How's Isaac? Is he okay?"

There was a long pause on the other line that had Stiles holding his breath. "He's recovering," Derek answered abruptly.

"So..." Stiles sagged in relief and continued making his way through one dark corridor after another with rehearsed ease, "Are you going to _tell_ me what happened? Your sexy broodishness isn't as hot when we're on the phone."

"He was...attacked. Surprise attacked Stiles," Derek's voice sounded...not right, like he wasn't telling Stiles everything.

"And?" Stiles realized he was going to have to do a little digging if he wanted to know more. Like always.

The older man sighed. "It's just-It reminded me of what you said before," Derek paused; "I found him fast and he was out in the open. No one even _tried _to hide him... It felt too easy."

"Like a trap?" Stiles asked sharply, his entire body tensing.

"Yeah, but," Derek was sounding increasingly frustrated, "Nothing happened."

"Well, what does Isaac remember?" Stiles asked, finally reaching his destination and fishing in the dark for the right key.

"Not much," Derek was being as curt as always; "Except, he said something about pine. Smelling pine."

Stiles bit back the urge to shout out a _hoorah_ as he successfully unlocked the door. "Did you find him in the _woods_?"

"That's just it. He was in the basement of the old textile factory," and that really was weird, because that building was by the docks. Downtown.

As Stiles stepped into the closet, the smell of cleaner washed over him and a thought occurred to him. "Wait. Pine—could that be like, _Pine Sol_?"

"I guess so, why?" Derek sounded a little caught off guard, not really following Stiles' line of thought.

Tucking the phone between his shoulder and chin, Stiles knelt down to the suspicious door situated so innocently amongst the other tiles, looking far more harmless than it had any right too. "Just something Scott said..." Stiles mumbled as his brain flew into overdrive, twisting his many, many puzzle pieces trying to get at least one of them to fit, "Wait...did you say textile factory?"

Stiles didn't even hear Derek's confirmation as he lost himself in thought. He remembered reading something about a textile factory during his research. At least he was pretty sure he had. It jogged some sort of memory. But, what?

When that particular factory had been shut down, Stiles remembered his dad talking about it. There had been a crime. A murder, Stiles knew that from the vague memory of the way his father spoke. Tired, over-worked, and distant. He was pretty sure that meant it had gone unsolved. The factory owner was the victim, because the entire thing was shut down after that. _What was their name?_

"Derek?" Stiles interrupted whatever Derek had been saying and pressed on; "What was the name on the factory?" Trying every key on the key ring, Stiles was hurriedly fitting them into the small locked handle of the trap door.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Derek barked, obviously annoyed that Stiles hadn't been listening.

"_Think_," Stiles quipped, getting increasingly irritated when none of the keys were _fitting_.

"It was Pyers or Pieces or something," Derek replied grumpily.

"Aha! I got it!" Stiles exclaimed, slipping the key in and twisting it with a satisfying _click. _He did not wait a second to tear the latch open and see inside. Too dark to see anything, but it did smell distinctly _awful_. "Wait a second," Stiles paused for a moment, cutting off Derek mid-question. Again. "Was it Peers? Like, P-E-E-R-S?"

"_Yes_, Stiles!" Derek snapped, "Where are you? And what are you _doing_?"

"Just solving _everything_," Stiles said smugly, reaching for his flashlight. "I know why that name sounds so familiar. Peers is the name of-"

"Well, well," a voice cut him off and had Stiles reeling back around. He immediately cursed when his phone slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor. Faintly he could hear Derek shouting his name on the other line, but Stiles didn't dare reach for it. Not when there was a gun pointed at his face. Instead he put his hands in the air. "So nice to finally get you alone."

And Stiles did _not_ like the sound of that. Although he knew it was mostly for Derek, who could no doubt hear their conversation. "Nice isn't really the word I would use," Stiles retorted, his words clipped.

"Shut it!" the tone was sharp, harsh, but strangely...awkward, like the man did not go about barking orders often. When he caught Stiles sizing him up, he cocked his gun; "Now, take off your shirt."

_That_ was something Stiles had not been expecting. Because so far he knew this man's angle, his plan, and stripping Stiles was _not_ a part of it. _Unless..._it was all for Derek's sake. The man had a grudge, and he wanted Derek to suffer. And he was one of the only people that knew of Derek's newly found weak spot. Stiles himself. So..._shit._

"Say Mr. Peers," Stiles made sure to include the man's name, hoping Derek was thinking clearly enough to listen to him, damn it; "You're a pretty cool _janitor_, but I never took you for a pedo. You only like young boys, or are you just a creepy old perv that gets off making kids **obey** you?" _Please, please be following along Derek._ Stiles chanted in his mind as he easily held his casual facade.

The man let out a feral shout and pistol whipped Stiles. He heard himself grunt in pain because _fuck! it fucking __**hurt**_, but Stiles knew that it had been coming; he was prepared for it and steeled himself against the pain. That should seriously not be something he was getting good at.

"Shut _up_!" the man shouted, "I'm not the-the pervert! You and that _**dog**__—_you are the disgusting ones. Now..." he took a steadying breath and at least he was sane enough to calm himself down. "Take. Off. Your. Shirt."

_Yeah, not any less creepy the second time. _Licking his lips nervously, Stiles peeled his sweater off and tossed at the man's feet. "Happy now?"

"Your _shirt_," the man snarled; "I said take off your shirt!"

"Jeez! Don't freaking burst a capillary," Stiles rolled his eyes, "I'm going!"

But his throat went dry and a sweat broke out across his skin. He was afraid, though he hid it well. The man watched his movements with intense, unblinking eyes as Stiles slowly, so slowly, lifted his shirt over his head. It made him feel nauseous knowing that the man was _staring_ at him, at his newly exposed flesh. He felt completely defenseless. It _sucked_.

"Give it to me," the man ordered, his eyes snapping over to the cloth in Stiles' hand and furrowing his brow in confusion, Stiles did. "Now the phone," the man waved his gun towards the device, still emitting Derek's enraged shouts and growls; "Slide it over to me."

Bending forward, Stiles touched the small device and hesitated. It was the briefest of moments and Stiles couldn't say he even had time to think before he whispered, so quietly he was sure Derek would barely be able to hear it; "It'll be okay. I promise," and pushed the cell across the floor.

The man scooped it up in one smooth motion, his gun never leaving Stiles. "If I can't forget, then neither will you, _Derek_." Then he hung up, pressing the 'end call' button so hard that Stiles flinched. _Come on; it was a new phone! _"Let's see just how much he really cares about you," he was _oozing_ pride; _the sick bastard_, "Hopefully enough to at least _look_ for you."

With that said, the man kicked Stiles. Once, hard and in the chest, sending him toppling backwards. There was no chance to catch himself before Stiles fell into the hole in the floor. The one he had conveniently opened and he was starting to think this _ass hat_ was smarter than he had originally thought. If only a little.

He yelped when he slammed into cold cement, hard and sudden. _Something_ in his shoulder popped sickeningly and _yeah_ that did not feel right— it felt so very, very wrong. Pain exploded white hot and he couldn't see. At least he thought that was from the pain. Maybe it was just really, really dark. As the latch above him slammed shut, the horrible 'click' of the lock sliding into place following, Stiles felt panic overwhelm him.

That prick was going after Derek and there was nothing Stiles could do about it.


	6. Chapter 6

Tentatively, Stiles shifted and pain bloomed anew. God, it hurt so much he could feel bile rising into his throat as tears swelled in his eyes. Stiles _needed_ to man the hell up and _move. _He was no help to anyone just laying there.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles gagged. It smelled _so bad_ wherever the hell he was. Something thick and pungent clung to the air, a heavy fog of rot and decay. _That _was not something he wanted to think about too much. Rotting, decaying things were usually alive once. Instead he focused on the pain.

His shoulder was dislocated. Stiles had seen enough action movies, even researched it once when he was bored; he could probably force it back into place. Rolling onto his back, Stiles tried to breathe past the pain. The longer he waited, the more it hurt and he was starting to slip in and out of focus.

Reaching out, he folded his arm across his chest at a ninety degree angle. He gripped his wrist tightly, dreading the next part. _It will be so much better when it's over._ That was all the reassurance he needed before pushing his arm up, rotating it back into the socket. Vaguely he recognized the taste of blood in his mouth as he bit back a scream.

It hurt so much he thought the burning pain was going to consume him like fire. He felt his entire skeleton catch flame, his bones searing his flesh from the inside out and he clenched his eyes shut. He didn't stop pushing, knew he couldn't, but he was struggling to breathe around the hot pain filling his lungs. Just as he screamed, no longer able to hold back, his joint cracked. The soothing flood of relief washed over him instantly and he let out a long, uneasy exhale.

That was all the time he gave himself to recover, he would have plenty of time later when that creepy janitor was taken care of, when Derek was not walking into a trap looking for _him_ and he was not locked in a freaky room under the supply closet.

It was pitch black. But he already knew that. He also knew that if he wanted to have even the slightest chance of escape he would need to remedy the darkness. A shaky breath to steady himself and Stiles moved to feel around the floor blindly. Although later he would never admit it, Stiles shrieked when both hands found two very different things at once.

One was hard, plastic or metal, and cylindrical. His flashlight, which had no doubt been knocked in with him when he fell. The other was sticky, almost wet, but more..._gooey_. And, yeah, Stiles did not like that at all. He jerked back, spastic and horrified, hurriedly turning his flashlight on with too jittery of hands.

The light was a reprieve that was short lived. Stiles quickly shone it down at the stickiness and frowned. It was red, dark, and browning and as he followed the puddle upwards Stiles nearly puked. Everywhere. Really, he was surprised he managed to choke back the contents of his stomach at the sight.

Hanging, limp and mutilated, on thick hooks protruding from the wall was a werewolf. Stiles knew that because underneath the caking, drying, _rotting_ blood he could see his ears, and fangs, and his dead shells that were once sharp, aggressive eyes. He could see the twisted look of agony still reminiscent of the face, still frozen in a scream. Stiles felt a cold wave of utter terror swallow him.

That's what had drawn Derek to the school. The noises they had heard in the closet. He had been _ alive_ while Derek and Stiles were right above him. They could have saved him, but the chemicals masked his scent, and Stiles had-had _seduced_ Derek so his focus wasn't at its peak. _This_ is what Peers wanted to reduce Derek to.

_That's not fucking happening._ Stiles decided, unwaveringly and he steeled himself. Now was not the time to freak out. _Later_. He assured himself again before looking away and standing on surprisingly steady legs.

He panned the light across the small enclosure. It was a tight room, and if Stiles remembered the blue prints correctly it was connected to the basement by a small crawl space. Originally the room was for holding dangerous chemicals or ones the students would get their hands on and huff.

There had been a similar room built under the nurse's office and the library. Although, that one didn't really make sense. They were a stupid precaution that the school had completely forgotten about. He was pretty sure they had carpeted over the one in the library, actually.

But, the crawlspace was nothing more than basement that they never bothered to finish. Not that Stiles cared, because _any_ way out was an _amazing_ way out. He just had to search the walls closely until he saw..._there_! A slab of wood amongst heavy cement, haphazardly working as a make shift door.

Stiles _ran_ to it, so eager to be out. Shoving the flashlight between his teeth, Stiles _hauled_ the wood out of his way, ignoring the tight pain that shot down from his shoulder. _Think about it later_. A loud clang echoed when he dropped it unceremoniously to the floor, but Stiles was unfazed, ducking into the tight place and practically _crawling_ through the cobwebs and dirt.

Stiles felt scratches being torn into his bare chest and scrapes being rubbed up and down his arms, but he forced the pain away. Into that reclusive part of his mind where he kept his darkest thoughts and painful memories._ That's what all of this will be eventually._ A distant memory to be tucked away.

When the boiler room came into view, Stiles sighed in relief and picked up the pace. He hadn't been in locked in that room for long. There was still a chance that he could make it to Derek on time and foil the bad guy's plan. No, not a chance—a _guarantee_. Stiles was going to make it.

Running past the heaters, steaming pipes littering the walls and _were they supposed to be doing that?_ Stiles charged full speed up the stairs and out the staff entrance doors. Barreling into the crisp morning air without second thought. _Now what_? He was free, but he had no keys and no phone.

"Stilinski!" Stiles jumped when he heard Coach Finstock's voice; "What the hell are you doing?" _Okay, I can work with that._

"Coach!" Stiles ran at the other man, so happy to see a familiar face free of malicious intent. Before he could stop himself, Stiles was hugging the man and, yeah, it was weird for both of them.

"This is awkward," Finstock grumbled, body tense and pulling away; "What drugs are _you_ on now?" Stiles stepped back, still holding the coaches shoulders.

"What? No drugs just—Hey! Can I use your phone?" Stiles wasn't coming across as a very convincing sober person, but really, he was lucky he wasn't just knocking the coach over the head and stealing his car. _Actually..._

"Fine," Finstock reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell; "Do you need to go to the _hospital_ or something Stilinski? 'cause you look like shit." He handed the phone to the younger man and Stiles almost cried he was so happy.

"No I was..." Stiles squinted, thinking; "going for a morning jog."

Finstock frowned. "Half-naked? In the basement of the school?"

"I didn't say I do it often," Stiles shrugged, dialing Scott's number. He cursed himself for not bothering to learn all the numbers in his contact list, including Derek's. It rang once and Stiles was becoming restless, twice and he was jittery, three times and he was ready to strangle Scott, but then he answered.

"...hello?" Scott sounded just as confused as ever.

"Scott!" Stiles shouted; "Where's Derek? Have you heard from him? Are you with him now?"

"_Stiles_?" Scott sounded absolutely flabbergasted, and Stiles knew he could be slow sometimes, but this was ridiculous.

"Yes. Scott, it's Stiles," Stiles rolled his eyes, "Where is Derek?"

"We-we all separated. We were looking for you and there were different scent trails. I, uh, I found your shirt. Derek said you were texting him that you were in trouble," Scott explained quickly; "Where are you?"

"The school. Look, Scott, you have to find Derek," Stiles ran a hand through his short hair; "I was never the target. It was always him. I'll explain everything. But find Derek first. _He's_ the priority. Okay?"

"...okay," Stiles hated Scott's uneasy voice. It was almost like he didn't trust Stiles and that infuriated him to no end.

"Good. Now I have to go," Stiles' eyes flicked to Finstock, taking in his scrutinizing, confused stare and gaping mouth; "Meet me at the Hale house in a bit." With that said, Stiles cut Scott off, ending the call. He tossed the phone back to the older man. "Thanks, Coach," he said grinning before hurrying away.

Behind him he heard a bewildered Finstock mutter, "Uh, yeah. No problem, I guess."

By the time he reached his jeep, Stiles was panting but he paid it no mind. Reaching above his tire, he fished around until he found his spare key. He was so going to thank his dad later for making him get it. There were only so many times Sheriff Stilinski could handle being called away from work because Stiles had locked his keys in his car. Again.

Pulling on a red hoodie he had tossed in the back a few days ago, Stiles slid into the driver's seat. As he started his car, the familiar rumble of his engine was calming, somehow. He found himself relaxing forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.

His mind was turning a mile a minute, everything churning together in a rabble only he could possibly understand. Then the last word in the riddle, the final piece of the puzzle, fell into place; shifted like he knew just where it should have been the whole time, and really he should have. Cursing under his breath, Stiles sighed deeply and forced himself to sit up. Why hadn't he seen it sooner?

He had just solved the mystery. The alpha had fallen for the trap. They all had. Stiles knew Scott and Isaac wouldn't find Derek.

But he was going to.


	7. Chapter 7

Barreling through the front doors of the half-burned shell that had once been a beautiful mansion, Stiles cut off whatever clever comment Peter had been planning to say. "Your mifi thingy and computer!" the younger man shouted; "Give them to me now!"

"I don't remember ever agreeing to follow _your _orders, Stiles," Peter's smooth voice rang out from behind him.

Whirling around with speed that startled Stiles just as much as it did Peter, the human caught Peter by his collar and stepped close. Unafraid and completely unfazed. "Then _get used to it_," he demanded, the sternness in his voice unsettling; "Now get me your computer and your mifi."

Lifting his hands in a sign of surrender, Peter smirked; "Alright, but you're going to have to let me go." Both men knew Peter could easily free himself from Stiles' grip, but he made no attempt to. Stepping back Stiles released the older man, following him as he moved towards the kitchen. "Now I'm no expert, but something seems amiss. What's wrong?"

"So freaking much," Stiles grumbled and Peter raised an eyebrow. "Listen to me," Stiles' voice was far more level than it had been seconds ago and Peter squinted, giving Stiles his full attention; "There is a situation at the school. I need _you_ to take care of it. And you're going to need all the help you can get. When Scott and Isaac get here, take them with you. They need to cause a diversion so _you_, and only you, can slip into the supply closet and get rid of the body hidden underneath it. Are we clear? Get in, get the body, get out. No one else needs to see that. I'm going after Derek."

Leaning casually against the wall, Peter frowned and watched Stiles as he hurriedly set up the equipment. His expression held the same air of neutrality as it always did, but his jaw was tense. Stiles knew the man wasn't as indifferent as he seemed.

"Alone?" the older man's amusement was guarded and condemning; "_You_ are going to find my nephew...alone?" He cocked his head to the side.

"No. Not alone. I'm not a complete idiot," Peter's disbelieving look had Stiles rolling his eyes, "I'm calling the police-"

"_What_?" he heard Isaac bark, him and Scott bursting through the doors with decidedly less enthusiasm than Stiles had; "The _police_? Are you serious?"

"_Yes, _the **police**. Because the bad guy, yeah, he's _human_," Stiles explained quickly, his fingers hitting the keyboard with fervor; "Not some super powered one either. And _police_ deal with kidnappings all the time. The last thing anyone needs is a bunch of werewolves running around barking orders and messing everything up," not bothering to look at the other men, Stiles entered his password and username, "You already draw enough attention to yourselves. So you can keep your wolfie-asses right out of the way and do what you're told."

His tirade was met with dead silence. _Good_. This quiet helped Stiles to think, and the pressure of the other men _watching him_ did too. He was pressed for time, for answers, for guidance and damn if he wasn't getting fed up with all of it.

His cell phone had GPS, because come on it was _new_, and Stiles distinctly remembered the creepy man taking it right before he had locked him in the creepy room, the one under the slightly less creepy room, which was full of creepy...dead things. Stiles jumped when a hand touched his shoulder; it had startled him but mostly it had hurt. _Later_. He reminded himself.

"Stiles...?" Scott looked at him with his lost puppy eyes, and Stiles was almost relieved to see them again, "What is going on? Are you okay?"

Just then the computer beeped and Stiles turned from his friend to check the screen. A small red dot stood stark against the monochromatic background, like the sight of a scope piercing into the face of its victim. He glanced at the address and his brow furrowed. _That can't be right_. That, well, Stiles knew exactly where that was. It was so obvious.

"I'm fine," Stiles finally responded, "Isaac, give me your phone." When Stiles looked up, his eyes zoning in on Isaac's, he was unsurprised to see anger there.

"What? Why should I?" Isaac shot back, clutching the small black device in his hand closer to his chest. _Teenagers_.

"Because the janitor stole mine when he stripped me and locked me in a torture dungeon underneath the school," Stiles couldn't stop the truth from _pouring_ out of him, his mental dam holding everything back was starting to leak, and that was not good. Taking a calming breath and ignoring the other men's gaping mouths, Stiles continued; "I need to keep in touch with you guys. I have Scott's number memorized. So give me your phone. Pretty _fucking_ please."

"Uh...right," Isaac caved, swallowing his surprise and handing his phone over.

"Thank you," Stiles said, stuffing it into his pocket. He read over the address again, and _yep_ it was still weird as hell, before slamming the computer shut.

The house smelled so much like Derek, Stiles' mind offered. Like smoke and leather and Drakkar Noir, like dying leaves and heavy rain and aging pine. A reflection of Derek's contrasting self; wild, an animal, and at the same time human. But it did lack the most important component. Derek himself.

Stiles squared his shoulders, standing straight. He caught himself biting his lip and halted the motion. The other men were watching him, waiting for him to make the next move, because he had _asked_ them too. Although right now he didn't much feel like taking the lead. He was afraid, his entire body _hurt_ and the familiar twinge of doubt was prickling through his veins, _assuring_ him he was going to fail.

He clenched his fist and the gnawing stopped. He was **not** going to fail; he couldn't afford to. Derek's life was depending on it, on Stiles. He was not letting another person down.

"Scott. Isaac," he turned, the seriousness in his voice had them closing off too, waiting to hear their roles in Stiles' plan; "Go to school. You're going to be late."

"_That's_ your plan? What can we do from there!?" Scott was yelling; "We can _help_ you Stiles. You _**can't**_ do this on your own!" More deafening silence followed, but Stiles ignored it. Far past determined.

"_Yes_ I can. I have too," Stiles' voice was a hell of a lot more calm than he felt; "You are helping. There's a body at the school, a werewolf. You two need to get Peter in so _he_ can get it out. If someone finds that, all hell will break loose."

Scott started, "That's-"

"True," Peter cut in, the older man sent Scott a pitied look, speaking slowly as if he was talking to a child; "There is a fully transformed Omega _corpse_ right in the middle of a public place, Scott. What do you think that means?"

"That...like," Scott started before grumpily giving up on thinking; "I don't know!"

"Well...It means two things," Peter was slipping into a lecture, "One, _there is a werewolf corpse in the middle of a public place_," his gaze darted to Isaac, and the younger man shifted uncomfortably; "and it also means that whoever did this could not only _catch_ one of our kind, but-"

"Kill it," Stiles interrupted, "He knows too much about werewolves for any of you to go after him. It's just another trap that **none** of you are getting caught in."

"But what about you!" Scott snapped at Stiles; "You're telling me he can catch, restrain, and kill _werewolves_, then how is _you_ going after him a better idea?!"

"Jeez Scott, I really love the way you have faith in my abilities," Stiles jeered, because this was irritating. He trusted Scott through _everything_, even after so many times Scott had led them astray and nearly gotten him killed. And Scott couldn't trust him this once?

"This isn't a joke Stiles!" Scott yelled, stepping up to his friend and grabbing him by the shoulders. _Yeah, that hurts._ Stiles flinched, reciting his mantra of dealing with it later to himself in his mind. Again. "This is dangerous!"

"I _know_! Alright?" Stiles hated this feeling. He felt weak. Doubt was whispering in his ear again, telling him how futile it all was. That even if he found Derek, he'd be dead. Just like that werewolf, hanging from the wall, body mutilated and destroyed, his face a portrait of death and agony.

That wasn't happening. Not if Stiles could help it.

"He won't be expecting it. He _wants_ you all to go after Derek. He will be expecting a pack of wolves, not one plain old human. Also, I am not going without back-up. Okay?"

"No! This is _so far_ from okay Stiles!" Scott's eyes flashed yellow and his grip on Stiles tightened, _Ignore it Stiles. It doesn't hurt __**that**__ bad_, "Derek is going to get you killed! He uses you for sex once and now you think he _loves_ you? Come on, Stiles! I know you're smarter than that! Weren't you the one that said we shouldn't trust him? You don't have to risk your life for him like this, man!" _It really doesn't hurt that bad_. Stiles told himself.

But Stiles' chest constricted. His heart was doing that thing again. It was probably his meds, because heartbreak wasn't _real._ He had been joking. That shit didn't really happen, especially not to Stiles. It just...didn't. Love wasn't—Derek and him weren't—Stiles had never thought Derek loved him. Not once. But that didn't matter because Stiles was used to unrequited feelings. It had been his entire life. He could _handle it_, regardless of what Scott thought of him.

"You're right," Stiles said quietly, "I don't _have_ to go after him, Scott, I want to. Oh, and another thing?" Stiles waited for Scott to look up before he hauled off and punched the werewolf in the face, yelping immediately when pain exploded in his hand. _Stupid werewolves and their stupid faces._

"What was that for?!" Scott snapped, stumbling back and rubbing at his jaw.

"Where should I freaking _start_?" Stiles shook the hurt from his hand; "Derek and I didn't _have _sex, dude, but thanks for telling _them_ about us!" he threw his arm towards Isaac and Peter, frozen, silent and awkward; "**I **was the one who made the first move, and I knew exactly what I was doing. Derek wasn't _using_ me because I'm not some dumb **object** that can be used! And I don't care what you say," Stiles was losing his rage, and instead it was shifting into something much softer. Like sadness. Only Stiles didn't want to be sad. At least not here and not now. "I don't care if Derek doesn't love me...I never expected him too." Stiles steeled himself again, ignoring the strange looks bouncing throughout the room; "But, all of that doesn't matter right now! There is a _crazed freak_ out there wolf-napping werewolves and trying to **kill** all of us, but worse than all of that, he stole my freaking phone, dude! And it was new, too..."

Scott laughed, and his eyes filled with something Stiles decided he had really been missing. Trust. Scott trusted him. "Alright Stiles, we are leaving," Scott sent looks to Peter and Isaac, still silent, and waited for them to nod in agreement. The group headed outside quickly, three going to Derek's car as Stiles wrenched open the door to his jeep.

As they all moved to take their seats, Isaac hesitated. He turned to look at Stiles and painted across his face was a dangerous abstract of emotions."Just...keep us updated...?"

"You too. If there are any problems, you better freaking call me man," Stiles grinned reassuringly and Isaac spared him a half smile. He waited until they pulled away to get into his jeep.

Now, there were two options. He could actually _call _the police like he had said, and the more he thought about it he really hated the idea, or he could not. Because really having to explain the entire situation to his _dad _kind of left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn't want his dad asking the obvious questions. Or getting involved at all. Right. So he was going to do this solo.

And didn't that completely suck.


	8. Chapter 8

The address the GPS led him to just happened to be the an old garage across from the abandoned textile factory. This whole thing felt _too_ easy. A part of Stiles knew it was a trap, but the rest of him seriously just didn't care because he had a massive bone to pick with this jerk face. Parking a good distance away from the building, because he had a very recognizable jeep and, come on, he was being stealthy here, Stiles took a moment to think.

_Okay_. So, say he successfully managed to sneak inside. _Then what?_ Would he like hit the guy over the head and threaten him to give up Derek's location? Or should he find Derek first and have _him_ deal with the bad guy. Assuming Derek could fight. Hell, Stiles didn't even know if he could _stand,_ let alone escape. Actually he didn't even know if Derek was in the building at all.

He really wished he had thought of a plan _before_ throwing himself into the fray, because this was just plain ridiculous. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His eyes panned across the ramshackle buildings surrounded by long forgotten shipping containers and discarded wooden pallets. It might as well have been a junk yard it was so trashed.

_Alright Stiles, you can do this_! Finally his mind was sending him positive vibes instead of constantly reminding him that this was a really bad idea and the he was probably going to die horribly. _Ok, this _**is**_ a bad idea and I _**am**_ going to die horribly._ He shook his head and opened the door. _No, it will work, I can do this_. Just in case, Stiles grabbed his lacrosse stick from the back seat.

He had just shut the door, quietly because he was in stealth mode now, when the sound of running reached his ears. Clutching his make-shift weapon closer Stiles pressed his back to the nearest shipping container and listened. The footsteps were coming towards him, at least he was pretty sure they were because they sounded like they were getting louder. Whoever was running was coming from beside him, around the corner of the shipping bin.

Glancing down at his lacrosse stick, Stiles shrugged. _It will have to do_. Before he swung it around the corner with as much force as his sore shoulder and tired arms could muster. Which was enough apparently, because whoever _received_ the chest full of sporting equipment was sent backwards, crashing to the ground in a sweating, panting, groaning heap. With the pain that exploded from Stiles' shoulder at the effort, Stiles was surprised he wasn't down there in a heap too. _I'll deal with it later_.

Peering down, Stiles gaped. That was definitely Peers.

_No way._ Stiles had been out of his car for less than five minutes and he already had the man down for the count. After all, he was just a human. So was Stiles. They were evenly matched. Well, Stiles gave the writhing man a once over, not _quite_ even.

"What the _fu-_" Peers ground out, but Stiles stepping on his throat cut him off. _You live, you learn_, he supposed. He had been in enough life threatening situations to know how to threaten life, and, damn, wasn't that ironic as hell.

"Where is he, fat ass? And don't even _try_ to pretend you don't know who I'm talking about," spending so much time with Derek had apparently paid off because Stiles actually _sounded_ dangerous. Like he wasn't messing around. Then again, that could have been because he wasn't. At all. He pushed his sneaker a little harder and the man sucked in a choked, awkward breath.

"Not," the man said, strangled and bitter; "here."

"That's a step in the _right_ direction," Stiles shifted his foot back, so it was on the man's chest; "Now keep pointing me in the _right_ direction and your neck won't be in the _wrong_ direction when I leave. Are you getting how this works?" _Too many action movies._ Stiles thought briefly before a laugh, wheezy and dry, interrupted him.

"Do you know what he is?" _Please not a monologue. _Stiles rolled his eyes; "What you're getting yourself into?"

Stiles snarled, shoving the lacrosse stick into the man's face and maybe it wasn't the _scariest_ thing ever, but whatever; "**Yes**, now get back to the part where you were telling me where Derek Hale is."

"Of course you don't," the man continued as if he hadn't even _heard_ Stiles, as if there wasn't a stiff piece of unassuming lacrosse gear pointed right at him; "You're just a child."

"Stop trying to distract me; it won't work," Stiles demanded; "Tell me where you're hiding him."

"My sister was just a child when she fell in love with a big bad wolf too," the man continued and Stiles was considering whacking him over the head just because he wasn't listening; "Then he got my brother shot and she was burned alive."

"I _know_," Stiles ground out between grit teeth. Some nagging part of his mind told him this was nothing more than a distraction. The trap was just waiting to be sprung; "Regina Hale, formerly Regina Peers, wife of Adam Hale. She was one of the Hale fire victims. Her and her two children."

"Those _abominations_ were not her children. They were sick half-bred monsters! Like Derek Hale," he spit at the name and Stiles' foot pressed harder into his chest; "Derek let that fire burn! Didn't even _try_ to save her, just like when he got my older brother shot for helping him!"

"Derek didn't _let_ anyone die, especially not in that fire," Stiles ground out and maybe he was pushing too hard on the man's chest because the older man gasped desperately in pain; "and he definitely didn't _shoot_ your brother."

"He didn't, but it was his _fault. _When my brother tried to help Derek and Laura after the fire, he was shot," the man's expression darkened into a sickening rage; "The coroner revealed he had-"

"Aconite poisoning. I _know_," Stiles cut him off, "Hunters killed him. Still—not Derek's fault." The man was shocked, taken aback and Stiles smirked. That's what you get for underestimating a Stilinski.

"They were looking for Derek, and he got shot because he wouldn't give him up!" Peers made to get up, and Stiles kicked him in the face. Take that Gerard. Who knew the old man's let's-beat-the-shit-out-of-Stiles-for-no-reason moment would actually pay off.

"Not so fun being on this end, huh?" Stiles bit, appreciating the blood trickling from the man's nose; "Your brother _died_ protecting his _family, _so you turn around and try to _kill_ the very same man he died to _protect_. I'm sorry but that just sounds so **dumb**. How about we get back to the good stuff? Like telling me where Derek is."

The man's jaw clenched shut and a spark of rage flashed in his eyes. _Good_. The more emotional a person became, the more likely they were to reveal something. He was soon to be putty in Stiles' hands.

"Yes! I know all your _reasons_. Sorry to ruin your big reveal. Wait, no I'm not," Stiles gloated, knowing all too well how to piss men like Peers off. Smart ass was good; cocky, winning smart ass that was _actually smart_ was so much better. "I also know your plan. All your little _traps_ were so obvious it's embarrassing. Like, seriously, you should be ashamed. I'm just a teenager and I foiled your plan."

The man smirked, and he was going right where Stiles wanted him too; "But you-"

"Didn't? You wanted me to come here alone so you could gloat about revealing werewolves to the world with your little corpse-in-the-school thing? Yeah, I took care of that too. Or were you going to talk about how you _planned_ all of this happening. Because I know that too. You had a back-up, of course. Traps upon traps and all that shit."

"Then why did you come here?" Peers asked, disbelieving.

"I had no choice. You made sure of that when you caught Derek and I making out. I would never tell my dad, so I wouldn't rope him into this mess. But I wouldn't bring along the pack because I _knew_ you could kill them. I know that isn't fog, I _can_ smell and it's the middle of the day, dude. Anyway, that meant I would come alone like the stupid, impulsive kid that I am."

"You really are quite predictable," the man was trying desperately to gain the upper hand. And Stiles was not about to let that happen.

"You're probably the first person who has ever said that to me," Stiles joked, bitterly; "Now, enough talk about me and you. How about we talk about Derek. Like where he is?"

"It doesn't matter if I tell you," Peers shoved the lacrosse stick from his face and pushed Stiles' foot from his chest. Stiles let him. Because he saw the blade flickering in Peers' hand and seriously did not want to be stabbed. "You won't be leaving here alive."

"So humor me," Stiles shrugged; "I figured all of it out, except for where you are holding Derek. If you're going to kill me at least tell me."

"I knew you wouldn't be able to find him!" Stiles gave the man his chance to boast as he pulled himself to his feet; "You're not as smart as you like to think you are, you little shit!" The man chuckled, wiping at his bloody nose; "I guess I _could_ tell you." Stiles held his breath, eyes never leaving the knife in the man's hand; "All you had to do was follow the signal and he's right there." Peers took a step forward, "but then you would be too late. Not that it matters now," he lifted his blade and, _Oh holy fucking shit! _Stiles couldn't move; "You really shouldn't have come alone."

Stiles swallowed, hard, forcing back his fear. "That's just the thing," his lips twitched into the faintest of smirks; "I didn't."

Then he dove to the side, narrowly avoiding an arrow to the chest, because Chris Argent seemed to have an itchy trigger finger. There was a sickening thunk as the arrow lodged itself in Peers' skull and Stiles really didn't want to look back. Then he realized just how little he had learned.

Derek's position was being signaled. _Like via satellite?_ That seemed way too high-tech. What about a radio signal? _At what frequency though?_ There were way too many combinations for Stiles to even attempt to figure it out. Then he had said to _follow_ the signal, so a flag maybe? There was one outside the school, library, post office, town hall, police station and old folk's home. And those were just the American flags. _So probably not that._ Maybe a light? Like a beacon. _Or the lighthouse?_ That didn't really seem right either.

Stiles gasped in pain when Chris grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. "Are you alright?" he didn't sound worried, just put upon.

That was okay with Stiles, after all the man was only fulfilling a debt that he owed. After Gerard had kidnapped him, Chris saved Erica and Boyd and then told Stiles he had regretted not helping him and that if he ever needed anything to give him a call. He _had_ said anything.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Stiles wiped at the dirt on his pants. Sirens in the distance had Chris tensing up; "Don't worry. They're not police. Probably an ambulance or firetruck." _Wait. Firetruck?_ "Holy freaking crap!" Stiles shouted, grabbing Chris by the shoulders and giving him a shake. As if the man wasn't startled enough. "Smoke!"

"Stiles...?" Chris began wearily, "Did you hit your head?"

"What? No," Stiles released Chris to grab his lacrosse stick and run to his jeep, Chris following hesitantly; "Peers said to 'follow the signal' and I'd find Derek there! What's the oldest signal in the freaking world?!"

"Smoke," Chris was catching on and Stiles appreciated having a sharp mind for company. Other than his own of course. "You don't think...?"

"That Derek is in that burning building?" Stiles wrenched open the door; "Hell yes, I do!" Just as he jumped into the driver's seat Stiles paused, "What do we do about...?" his eyes fell on the corpse and he swallowed nervously.

"I'll take care of it," Chris said, his voice dangerously cold; "Stiles," Stiles turned, mid sag of relief and straightened; "I did not do this for Derek. I did it for you, and now that it's done, we're done. Understand?"

"Yes," Stiles replied instantly before adding a quieter; "Thank you."

"He would have killed you, so trust me," Chris sent Stiles a smile so devoid of any good intent that it made Stiles shiver; "it was my pleasure to take care of him." Stiles just nodded, vigorously and nervously, as Chris turned away.

Forgoing the seat belt, Stiles drove away as fast as he could. Speed limits be damned. He had a _time limit_ on someone's _life_ and he was not about to test the constraints of that limit. Driving seventy in a twenty-five zone wasn't _safe_ but neither was being tapped in a house that was _on fire_. With that thought in mind, Stiles decided it was okay to simply take the laws under advisement and drive on.

Now all Stiles had to do was follow the smoke and hope he'd make it in time.


	9. Chapter 9

The closer he got, the worse he felt. Every road he passed became more familiar until Stiles had the gut-wrenching feeling that he knew _exactly _where the fire was. And when he turned down the street leading to his subdivision, he was right. It was _his_ house. The Stilinski household was on fire and Stiles silently thanked the new schedule lady who had his dad working extra late tonight. Of course, he would probably show up anyway, but at least he wasn't, you know, _inside_. Like Derek.

He didn't bother turning the engine off or shutting the door of his car before leaping out and charging down his driveway. The firemen hadn't even gotten there yet and _how_ had Stiles beat them? Really. Well he had been speeding. A lot.

Flames were licking up the sides of his house, bursting through windows and clawing at the sky. Heavy smoke rose from the ends of their hot orange claws and Stiles was _freaking out_. The firefighters weren't going to make it in time. Sure Derek had crazy werewolf healing powers, but Stiles _knew _what fire could do to a werewolf. So did Derek.

Wrapping an arm over his face, Stiles moved without thinking. If he thought this over, he might realize what a terrible idea it was and stop. He couldn't stop. So—_less thinking, more running. _He ran up the porch steps and kicked the door, hard. It took a few tries but before all of the bones in his foot were broken, the door was thrown open.

Heat slammed into Stiles' face like a force field. Seeing his belongings burning; the couch they'd had for years, the picture his mom had painted, the end table Stiles had broken with his forehead that one time, was too unsettling. _That's for later_, he assured himself,_ right now, don't think—move._ And he did.

Flames reached out for him desperately and so much smoke hung in the air Stiles couldn't _breathe_. It made his eyes sting so badly he had to clench them shut. And, fuck, it was so hot. Stiles felt like he was standing in a toaster, felt like his skin was _crisping_. He was going to be burnt toast and he _hated_ burnt toast.

Blinking the smoke from his eyes, Stiles hurriedly searched the first floor. _Nothing. _Which meant Derek was either on the second floor or in the basement. Since Peers seemed to have a creepy affinity for basements, and torturing werewolves in them, Stiles took a guess and veered right, heading down stairs.

The lack of smoke down there was a godsend but it was way, way more _hot. _So much so that Stiles felt like he had burned his lungs by just breathing in the heated air. All of his skin felt too tight and dry. Pushing down the fear swelling in his gut, Stiles finally moved.

The first room was empty. Just some decorations no one had touched since his mother's death. But as he rushed around the corner to the other room, Stiles almost fainted, because _there he was_.

"Derek!" Stiles yelled over the cracking and popping of the fire.

The werewolf was stuck to the wall, nails in his arms barely supporting his weight. He was sweating and panting when he looked up at Stiles weakly, duct tape wrapped around his face to cover his mouth, his eyes widened.

"Look, I'm going to get you out of here," Stiles assured, not hesitating to grab a hammer and tear the nails from Derek's flesh. He tried really hard to not wince every time Derek let out a low groan of pain. It was no surprise the nails were covered in Wolfsbane. Peers had been prepared.

Derek sagged over into Stiles' arms as the younger man worked on getting the last of the nails out. He couldn't remember nails ever being that fucking _long. _Then he was ripping the tape from Derek's face as quickly as he could.

"_Stiles_..." Derek breathed. Good, he was still awake.

"Derek, can you walk?" Stiles shifted Derek's weight, trying to hold him up; "We seriously need to get out of here." Derek nodded and Stiles took that as an invitation so he hauled Derek's arm over his shoulder, and yes in fact it was still fucking sore, and wrapped an arm around his midsection. All but dragging Derek, Stiles didn't stop until he was at the bottom of the stairs. The stairs that were now consumed in flames. And, shit, it was never easy was it?

"Stiles," Derek panted, "There's no way," he paused for a breath; "you're going to make it up those..._with me_."

"Shut up," Stiles grunted, swallowing thickly and leaning Derek into the wall. He was so lightheaded. It must have been the smoke strangling him and he knew Derek was feeling it too. "I am getting," Stiles panted, "your wolf ass out of here," still panting; "You hear me?" Derek nodded. "Good," Stiles wiped the sweat from his brow and heaved Derek upright, "Now move your ass."

The stairs creaked dangerously under their feet as pure heat nipped at them. It was terrifying but Stiles didn't stop. He was pulling Derek along, without him Derek would fall, and after everything, Stiles was _not_ leaving him behind.

"Do you remember," Stiles started, pausing to pull Derek up another step. They weren't moving fast enough. "what I told you on the phone?"

Derek cracked his eyes open blearily to look at Stiles. "Yes."

"And," Stiles stopped moving. They had only made it up three steps. This wasn't working, "What was it?"

"You told me," Derek swallowed against the dryness in his mouth, "that it was going to be okay."

"No," Stiles readied himself; "I promised."

And then somehow Stiles was using a burst of adrenaline to run up the stairs, hauling Derek's dead weight along with him. He felt flames clawing at him and ignored them. _Not now, not now, not now!_ That was for later. All of the pain and fear and guilt. That was all for later. Before that, he had to deal with the now.

As he burst into the hallway above the staircase, Stiles was relived to see the entire place hadn't been consumed in fire yet. The front door was just there, Stiles could see an almost clear path to it. Except he couldn't breathe anymore and blackness was toying with his vision. His legs were weak and his lungs hurt so much every breath felt like a thousand shards of glass in his throat. He wavered.

Stiles heard Derek grunt as they crashed to the floor. He could still see the door. He could see his porch and the street outside; police cars and people watching with horrified faces. Someone was yelling at a fireman, his neighbor Miss Hartford.

"I saw him go in there! Please!" her voice was muffled but impossibly clear; "Oh lord, he's just a boy! You can't possibly-"

"I'm sorry ma'am," the firefighter replied, and he _sounded_ guilty at least, "There's nothing we can do." Why not? Stiles thought bitterly. It seemed he was stuck doing _everything_ lately. Even saving himself. And Derek.

Gasping in as much oxygen as he could, which hurt so bad Stiles could feel tears in his eyes, Stiles hoisted his sweater over his head and wrapped it around his face. He only had a little further to go.

"Come on Derek," he whispered, "Trust me. _Get up_." Stiles was talking more to himself than Derek as he hoisted Derek up from the floor, barely managing on unsteady legs.

"I do," Derek panted, his usual broody attitude tinting his voice; "trust you."

"Good," Stiles words were muffled and his eyes were fixated on the door. So close. They were so fucking close. "because I don't break my promises."

Then they were stepping out the doorway just as the house groaned horribly. Stiles ripped his sweater off his face, breathing in as much air as he could even though it still hurt in his too dry mouth and stinging lungs. As the creaking behind them became crashing, Derek was grabbing Stiles by the waist and jumping as far away from the house as he could.

They landed in a mess of sweaty, aching, ash-covered limbs in the cool grass just as the house caved in. It would have easily _smashed_ them had they still been on the porch. Stiles hated Fate's sick sense of humor. There was nothing funny about this life-threatening situation with Derek. Nothing at all.

Derek shifted in Stiles' arms, trying to stand and only managing to kneel, knees wedged between Stiles' legs. His head tipped down, hiding his face, and Stiles could feel him...trembling. His shoulders were shaking and—_Oh. _Derek had just been in a _house fire;_ he was probably not okay.

"Derek...?" Stiles whispered, wrapping his arms around Derek and pulling him into a tight embrace. Derek tensed, trying so hard to bury his emotions. "It's okay," Stiles whispered into Derek's flesh, it was healing now and Stiles was so happy he sighed in relief, "Derek it's okay..." he repeated and Derek relaxed into him; "It's okay to cry. I promise."

Derek growled low in his throat and he clutched at Stiles' shoulders. _Deal with the pain later_. When Derek spoke his words were terse and his voice wavered. "Stiles I-" he swallowed and Stiles could tell he was trying to choke down his emotions, "I thought I was_-we were..._" he whimpered and Stiles knew Derek was losing his restraint; "I can't-" he squeezed the younger man impossibly closer, speaking so quietly Stiles was amazed he could even hear it; "I can't tell you how much you mean to me."

"You don't have to," Stiles promised, tears pooling in his eyes. _Now is better than later_. He told himself when they rolled down his cheeks. "Don't say anything," Stiles clenched his eyes shut and his head tipped down; he never wanted anyone to see the aftermath of the dam that was about to break. Least of all Derek. "Just kiss me."

And Derek did. Right before Stiles passed out.


	10. Chapter 10

Someone's voice had Stiles drifting into a blur of consciousness. Everything was so _white_ and _bright_ and Stiles knew that above him people were talking. Muffled tones of hushed words and Stiles was seriously starting to think someone was plotting something that maybe he should be a part of.

"Whash're you plottin' er sumthin'?" and that had definitely not sounded the same way in his mind. He must have been drugged; they tended to muck up his ability to _do fucking anything_.

"Stiles?" his dad asked, too much worry in his voice for Stiles' liking. _Why was he worried? I saved Derek._ Stiles thought back to the fire; it had been his house that burned down. Stiles hadn't been able to prevent that.

"'m sorry," Stiles wanted to sound sincere, because he did feel really bad about it, but he was so damn _tired_ and the room was too freaking bright. Lifting a hand to rub at his itchy eyes, Stiles gasped. Holy ever living crap did his shoulder hurt. A lot.

"You don't need to apologize," his dad reassured, guiding Stiles' hand back down to the sheets; "You are okay, Stiles. That's all that matters."

"Wuh happen'd?" Stiles grumbled, struggling to sit up; "Where am I?" _Yes, _Stiles could feel the drugs wearing off and the haze in his mind began to lift. He didn't need his dad to answer, he could see that he was in a hospital, in a bed, and where were his clothes?

"You're in the hospital Stiles," his dad explained patiently; "Do you remember the fire?"

"Yeah," Stiles snapped up, pulling at the bandages on his shoulder and when did he get those? "Oh crap! What about Derek?"

His dad's jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. "Derek Hale? Did he have something to do with the fire?"

_Oh yeah._ Stiles clamped his mouth shut. _Not telling dad about that._ "Wait, I think..." Stiles groaned, shifting uncomfortably and laying back in the scratchy sheets; "I think that was a dream."

Relief washed over his father, and Stiles felt like a complete dick. Seriously, he _hated_ lying to his dad, hated seeing the trust in his eyes and knowing that it was misplaced. It made him sick to his stomach. That, or the pain that was starting to throb in his chest. While the meds wearing off meant Stiles could _think_ it also meant he could _feel_ and, shit, his entire body hurt. He shifted and flinched, stifling a grunt.

"Stiles, are you okay?" his dad was on his feet, ready to run out and wave down the nearest medical professional. It made Stiles smile.

"Yeah Dad," his throat hurt; "I'm fine. Just really freaking thirsty." Immediately a cup of water with a long straw was shoved into his hand, the one on the side of his body that _didn't_ look like someone had tried to mummify it. "What _are_ these?" Stiles motioned towards bandages.

The sheriff sank into the chair nearest Stiles' bed, running a hand through his short hair. "There was a torn tendon or rotator cuff or something in your shoulder," he sighed; "They had to put you through surgery to fix it. The doc couldn't figure out how you got it, said something about it happening with a shoulder dislocation. Thought you must have fallen while you were in the fire and messed it up really bad..."

Stiles swallowed, "So, does 'really bad' mean no lacrosse for a couple weeks or...no moving my arm ever again?"

"It _means_ you'll be going physical therapy for a while," his dad crossed his arms, "but it should heal just fine."

_ Thank God for that_. Stiles sagged in relief, his eyes slipping shut. Even though a deep ache had settled in his very core, Stiles relaxed. _It was going to be okay_. He was so tired. Everything that had happened in the past couple of days had been so exhausting, Stiles was completely drained. He barely even registered his dad draping a blanket over him as Stiles felt sleep tugging at his mind. And before he could have a second thought, Stiles was asleep.

"We go on vacation for two days, and that dumbass does _what_?" Jackson barked, jerking Stiles from his state of rest, and how long had been out? It was much darker in the room now.

"Look, don't make a big deal out of-" Isaac was trying to keep the peace, and obviously failing.

"Don't tell me what to do Lahey!" Jackson snapped; "He almost got himself _killed_. Hell, he almost got _all_ of you killed and—you know what? I don't care. The idiot got what he deserved." Stiles felt a jab of something in his chest. Mean Jackson wasn't really new, but Stiles couldn't fight the sting of those words.

"_Jackson,_" Lydia's voice held a quiet scorn that had Jackson deflating, his tail firmly between his legs; "Stiles is a _hero._" At that Stiles' heart swelled. This was going to be an emotional roller-coaster ride, Stiles could tell.

"That doesn't mean he isn't an idiot," Jackson retorted under his breath and Stiles could practically _hear_ Lydia rolling her eyes.

"Would you two shut up?" Isaac wasn't _really_ asking; "I think he's awake."

"Stiles?" Scott asked to his right and Stiles perked up.

Stiles hadn't realized Scott was in the room. He hadn't realized there were _so many_ people in his room actually. Seriously they were _packed_ in there. Allison clinging to Scott on his right, Lydia and Jackson at his feet, Isaac to his left. But the entire room felt uncomfortably empty when he realized Derek wasn't there.

He looked directly at Isaac, pulling himself into a sitting position; "Is Derek okay?"

Then everyone hesitated. Eyes became transfixed on the floor and lips were being bitten. Well, _that_ probably meant 'no'. Stiles' heart pounded as fear sparked in his veins. Derek had been in pretty bad shape when Stiles had last seen him. _When was that again?_

"He..." Isaac started, glancing around the room for support and finally Scott offered it.

"We don't know," he almost sounded mad, but Stiles could tell he was just...strained; "We haven't seen him since he brought you here."

"Which _I_ have a question about," Jackson folded his arms, scowling at Stiles. _What's his problem?_ Under the scrutiny, Stiles could feel himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Lydia put a hand on Jackson's shoulder; "Jackson, don't-"

"Why didn't you _call_ someone," the man pressed and it was okay, because Stiles had known it was coming. He just hadn't expected it from Jackson; "Like your useless father or one of these _ass hats_?"

"He's right Stiles," Scott joined in and the deep ache in Stiles' shoulder was starting to throb into something much more difficult to ignore; "You have Isaac's phone-"

"Um...actually I _think_ I might have dropped it in the fire," Isaac opened his mouth to speak and Stiles hastily added; "while I was _running for my life and saving Derek and suffocating._" To that, Isaac said nothing, just pouted. Stiles turned back to Scott and shifted, even though he hurt no matter _how_ he was sitting; "And why does it matter anyway? Everything turned out fine-"

"Fine!?" Scott barked; "You call _that_," he motioned towards Stiles' injury, "fine?!"

"_Yes,_ Scott," Stiles was seriously getting restless. He had been laying in the stupid hospital bed for too long and he _needed_ to get up, the pain only making it worse; "because I'm in the _hospital_ and they _fixed_ it. That's about as fine as an injury can get." He cleared his throat and why was it becoming so hard to talk?

"You **told** us you were calling the police, Stiles!" Scott yelled and Stiles realized that his head was pounding, _just add it to the freaking list_; "You lied to me!"

Stiles recoiled, clenching his eyes shut and seething when the too fast motion pulled at his shoulder. Breathing deeply, Stiles willed the pain away and when he opened his eyes again he was surprised to see the anger had wafted from the room. Scott sagged.

"It's just-" he sighed and Allison grabbed his hand tenderly; "I could have—_should_ have been there to help you this time." And _oh_ this was something a lot deeper than Scott had been letting on.

"Look Scott," Stiles glanced down at his hands and saw bandages there, _burns probably_; "I'm sorry, but calling you guys didn't even, like, occur to me. I was driving so fast and all I could think about was Derek being burned alive and I get that I'm human and you worry that I'll die the moment I'm out of your sight, but I _can_ take care of myself man. I thought you'd get that by now," Stiles shrugged, cursing himself and why, God, had he even thought that was a good idea?

"That's just it though!" Scott snapped, calming when Allison squeezed his hand a little harder. Too hard, maybe. When he spoke again his voice was strained; "You _don't_ take care of yourself. I mean you were running around with a torn whatever in your shoulder and fighting janitors and jumping into burning buildings trying to take care of Derek and it didn't even _occur_ to you that you could have died! Like so many times."

"Yeah it did," Stiles said lowly, not angry just _frustrated_, because _fuck_ he was starting to really _fucking hurt _and where were his damn pain meds? "I knew what I was risking. I'm not an idiot," he glared at Jackson and the other man shifted, looking away; "But I was not letting Derek end up like that werewolf under the school. If you had seen it, Scott, we wouldn't be having this, ughnn, talk." Shit, was he sweating? That didn't make sense. He was kind of cold.

"Stiles?" Lydia interrupted, her voice wavering; "Stiles, are you alright? You don't look so good." He was breathing too fast. _It hurts_. Is it supposed to feel this_ bad?_ "I'm not sure..." Lydia responded and had Stiles said that out loud? "Let me get a nurse."

His skin was _throbbing, _wave after wave of pain crashing over him and Stiles realized there were so many _more_ burns than he'd thought. Up his arms and on his chest and it wasn't his skin that was hurting, just his wounds. Like that made it any better. Everyone was quiet but Stiles' head still pounded.

A nurse sauntered to his side, stopping to fiddle with his IV. He had one of those this whole time? "Did any of you kids touch this?" her voice was quiet, but she was obviously annoyed.

"No," Scott responded first; "Why?"

She huffed. "_Someone_ must have touched it because the drip chamber is closed."

"Meaning?" Jackson was huffy right back and Stiles felt himself smiling.

"Meaning," she quipped testily; "his pain medication hasn't been entering his system, probably for a while now. He's got to be hurting something awful." And just like that pity softened her cross nature. Sliding the plastic end on the drip chamber to 'open', she smiled down at Stiles. "There. Those should be kicking in soon," and _God yes_ if that wasn't the most exciting thing ever. She turned to the others, "Now everybody out! He needs to rest and once those meds hit his system he won't be very good company anyway."

Stiles wanted to tell her that he didn't want them to go, because honestly being alone right now didn't sound very appealing. He had seen that janitor in the hall, mopping the floors and _plotting_. But he was too tired. The numbing effect of the medication was already sinking in and Stiles felt himself being pulled down. Relishing the absence of pain, Stiles let himself be taken and slipped into a restless, medicated sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews! This will be the last chapter, so thanks to everyone for reading~ Also, visit the sterek campaign website and help make this glorious, sexy couple a reality._

Stiles had to piss. That was the first thought in his mind as he fought for consciousness. The second was that someone was laying in his bed. Like, _with_ him. Next to him. Wrapped around him. Slowly peeling his eyes open, Stiles saw that the window nearest him was open. _Predator_. His mind supplied and he swallowed nervously. Then, he looked down.

Derek.

And Stiles relaxed immediately, so unbelievably relieved to see the older man alive and...sleeping? His head was on Stiles' chest, arm holding his hips tightly, and legs wrapped around Stiles' own, dozing comfortably. He looked so..._cute_. Stiles couldn't stop himself from chuckling, even though he had tried really hard not to.

Derek perked up and Stiles ran a hand through his hair; "Derek, are you asleep?"

Squeezing tighter, Derek sighed into the bandages on Stiles' chest. Stiles shivered. "Yes," he mumbled.

"Obviously," Stiles joked quietly, afraid noise would disrupt the mood or something; "Are you okay?"

Derek nuzzled closer and Stiles almost thought he wasn't going to answer. "I went to Deaton, he patched me up."

"Physically, sure," Stiles was stroking Derek's hair and Derek leaned into the touch, "But are you _okay_?"

Derek tensed. "No."

"Do...you want to talk about it?" Stiles hated the way Derek seemed to retreat into his memories. Away from Stiles, alone. Like he had been for so long. Stiles wasn't going to push this though. Not this. "I can try to..."

"What?" Derek growled, "_Fix_ me?"

"Only if you start peeing on my stuff," Stiles quipped; "and I was thinking more along the lines of _helping_ you or whatever a boyfriend's supposed to do. Listen or something? I just want you to know that I'm here for you..."

"I know you are, Stiles," Derek whispered; "You just pulled me out of a burning house. Wait," Derek jerked back, sitting up and staring down at Stiles with intense eyes. Stiles already missed Derek being in his arms. "Did you...are we—'_boyfriend_'?"

Stiles' heart dropped. _Fuck_. "Crap! It just slipped out, I didn't mean to-to," Stiles fumbled for something to say, anything; "I get that whatever we're doing isn't like a relationship or anything so we don't get labels. It's cool. I get it. Just forget I ever said anything!" His cheeks flared red with embarrassment.

There was pause, silent and suffocating. Stiles wanted to look away from Derek's searching eyes. He had no idea what they were looking for.

"I don't want to forget," Derek said, leaning over Stiles so his mouth was hovering inches above Stiles' lips; "This is the best I've felt in such a long time—I don't want to just act like I don't shiver when I hear your voice, act like I can look at you without wondering what its like to kiss you, because now that I know I don't want to go back..." Derek recited Stiles' own words and Stiles felt all the air being stolen from his lungs.

Then Derek moved up and brought his lips to Stiles' forehead, a kiss that was feather light and chaste as hell. It sent shivers through Stiles' entire body. Stiles couldn't _think_ let alone **say** anything when Derek moved to lay his head back down on Stiles' chest again. Through the insanely loud sound of his heart beating in his ears, Stiles could hear Derek whisper something into his flesh.

It sounded an awful lot like _I love you_. But Stiles wasn't sure.


End file.
